the war machine churns my brain into mud
as it hunts for the source of some spurious conflict
seeking solutions to empty equations
it smokes and spews
slaughters all reasons
waining is logic, for fear it may too become bruised
or broken or buried in debris in the siege.. or worse..
siezed in the freeze-frame firefight fleeing for life
from the fetid ferocity known as
finite.
come whatever come what will
violent, merciless, the machination feeds
Unrelenting avarice, the victim is all reason
Hearin' the gears in my ears..
Grind in my mind so blindly
It was a hunt for nothing..
No success till it stopped looking.
Unless there was nothing left
the machine would not rest.
Must
quiet
this
down.
